| |
THE SUN BEAT DOWN ON the Tracker, but the warm mid-summer rays went unnoticed. It deemed the information unworthy even to be filed. Its Quest had continued, unrewarded, for the entire nocturnal cycle, and well into the next day.
The Tracker analyzed the parameters, wary of any potential flaw which could jeopardize its mission. The Givers were dependable, their data trustworthy. Potential targets, three of them, were in the decaying City. But where?
It scaled its way to the apex of an abandoned building, taking advantage of the elevated vantage point to scan the streets and alleys below. There were additional units in the vicinity, each intent on completing the Quest. It needed a tactical advantage.
Scan left to right, back and forth, up and down. Repeat.
The presence of additional units ate away at the Tracker’s concentration. It stalked from one side of the flat roof to the other, scanning the streets beyond. It hoped the Givers had noted its cleverness and were pleased.
Its scans were an exercise in futility. The panoramic view afforded by its lofty perch gave it no real advantage, produced no results.
The Tracker peered over the edge of the artificial precipice, cataloguing the small number of bio-forms as they scurried furtively here and there. The crumbling core of the City was an unwelcoming place for the fragile creatures. Individual by individual, it purged the bio-forms from active memory—none carried an Implant.
A new sensation, once known as anxiety, surfaced. Unacceptable. A distraction. This unit is reliable. The Givers would not be denied. The seventeen additional units were of no consequence.
No. Inaccurate. The number of additional units had been reduced to sixteen. One unit was no longer on the grid. No Implants had been harvested. Yet one unit was no longer functioning.
Irrelevant. All that mattered was the Quest. The Givers would not be denied. This unit is reliable.
The Tracker turned away, about to descend to street level, when it detected the faint—very faint—whiff of an Implant. Far off, barely discernible, the signal weak and indistinct.
It returned to its vantage place, dropping to one knee as it peered over the edge of the parapet. It froze in place, hands braced on the guard rail, as its enhancements scaled up to full intensity.
A bead of sweat trickled down the Tracker’s forehead. It concentrated on the weak signal, willing it to become clearer. A new surge of adrenaline, joined simultaneously by the chemical enhancements, barely registered.
The Tracker was unaware its lips curved into a predatory smile. Its diligence had been rewarded.
Target acquired.
The carrier of the Implant was not far from the Tracker’s current position, traveling in a parallel vector. The bio-form’s movements appeared to be random, erratic. Irrelevant. The Quest’s completion was at hand.
The Tracker re-entered the building, descending the ancient staircase at its highest speed. Dust billowed under its scuffling steps, level after punishing level. Its muscles burned from the frenzied descent, but the discomfort was ignored. A minor distraction. The Harvest was imminent.
Fear and anxiety retreated as the Tracker descended to street level. In their place, a sense of anticipation blossomed, mixing with the synthetic energy of the enhancements.
The Harvest would soon commence. This unit is reliable. The Givers would be pleased.